Page 2 of Before the Summer He Found Her

My Imposter Syndrome flares into full action, reminding me that deep down I’m notreallythe sort of person who manages a Network Operations Center. I’m a creative. A writer. A sci-fi aficionado with a shit ton of half-filled notebooks, full of half-finished sci-fi stories, with half-written characters that will, in all actuality, never see the light of day.

I might not truly be worthy of my current job title.

But I’mnota writer, either. Even if my heart has always wanted to be one.

Near the end of my drive, and during the height of my existential crisis, my phone begins to ring. I seeherfamiliar name pop up on my car’s display, and despite myself, I smile.

“You’re working late on a Friday,” I tease. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Channah’s cute laugh fills my car speakers. “It’s only eleven here. Besides, I knew you’d be up.”

“Onlyeleven?” I ask, glancing at the local time on my car display, which reads eight. “I… don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that before.”

“Ha. I know. I’m unique. But you’re literally the same as me, so…”

“That you are. And that I am.”

There’s silence, and I drum the fingers on my right hand along my dash, waiting for her to tell me what business need she has at this hour. There’s probably something legitimate, but I also realize she sometimes calls me with the guise it’s work-related. And often times our conversations drift into talk about the latest episode of whatever. I think because she’s lonely. Something in my gut tells me I’m right—a certain level of intuitiveness I’ve always had (my friend Jeff’s girlfriend, Sasha, blames this on my Pisces astrological sign). Even so, I won’t ask Channah about it. That feels like it would make things more personal between the two of us, and she works for me.

Instead, I understand something unspoken. I’m a lonely person who devotes all his time to work because I have no one and nothing else—and she’s a workaholic who likely pushes all her friends away in favor of her job. Two people losing their hearts and minds in their work, for two varied reasons.

“I’ve been going through the site audits again,” she says, interrupting my thoughts, “and there’s an overwhelming number of sites in QA that shouldn’t be. Do you want me to do a more thorough check and see if there’s a pattern?”

I grin, seeing her face in my mind’s eye as she asks the question. Knowing the way her little button nose must have crinkled to match the inflection of her question. Envisioning her loose curls, the ones that always splay perfectly around her face. I’ve only seen her remotely, during our team meetings, but that’s enough for me to envision her clearly.

Come to think of it, I’ve spent more time around her and my two other subordinates than anyone else. I don’t even see family this often. Is that all there is to this life for people like me and Channah? Working our lives away until we’re one day one foot in the grave? I recall Scott’s request with adding two new teams, and the way it made me cringe. I truly don’t want to do this job, and I don’t want to lose my current team dynamic if Channah goes. Yet I must do this job, and I must acquiesce to Scott, the way I’ll acquiesce to whomever is my boss for the rest of my working life.

Channah deserves a better life than the one I’ve accepted for myself.

Which is probably why I respond the way I do.

“You know what I want?” I ask. “For you to do something fun for once. That’s non-work related. Instead of calling your boss on a Friday night.”

“What if this is my fun?” she teases, and I think of her profile photo on our work messaging app. She’s wearing a quirky straw hat with a rainbow ribbon tied around the middle, and she’s beaming, her dark hair flowing in loose curls around her round face. With herStar TrekEnterprise charm dangling from a silver chain around her neck. She’s magnetic, and our entire team is drawn to her every time she speaks during our meetings.

This person? This person’s version of fun can’t simply be callingme.

I roll my eyes. “Can’t be. Don’t you, uh, uh… what do people do these days? Go dancing? Clubbing, right? Yes. Clubbing.” I attempt a very poor, basic, beatbox sound. Truth be told, I haven’t done much in the way of socializing since Jessica and my time in Seattle—and that relationship (with both the person and the city) ended eight years ago.

Channah’s adorable laugh shines through the speakers as I continue beatboxing, and her voice warms my heart.

“I think your true calling awaits you,” she says through a chuckle. “Also, I’m thirty-four.”

“Yes, and?”

“And I’m no longer in my twenties and don’t do clubs. Welp, come to think of it, I’ve never done clubs.”

“Not once?” I press, thinking of the countless times Jessica dragged me to some nightclub in Seattle, where I spent a considerable amount of time making her laugh at my feeble attempts at dancing. The woman most assuredly hadn’t fallen for me for my nimble feet.

“Not once. That’s never been my scene. I like reports and numbers and now, calling my ever-so-slightly grumpy boss to remind him I’m working hard.”

“Ever-so-slightlygrumpy?” I feign offense with a gasp. “I’d much preferfull-ongrump.”

I feel her raise her eyebrows, even though I can’t see her. “I think you have some work to do to reach that status, sir. Like cut our pay and fire a bunch of people.”

I sigh. If only she knew we were about to do the exact opposite.

“Holy shit, you sighed,” she says in a panicked tone. “Be honest with me. Do I need to prep for the worst? Am I about to lose my job, rediscover my love-hate relationship with ramen, and then travel the world on the last dimes to my name all the while analyzing myself in an attempt at self-discovery and reinvention?”

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